


The Colour of the Sky

by giraffewithstripes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel!radio, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, colour of the sky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:54:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffewithstripes/pseuds/giraffewithstripes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Castiel's punishment for his crimes against heaven his soul has been implanted into a broken radio, and is fading fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colour of the Sky

_You spoke with a voice like sandpaper,_

_With words grabbing at fistfuls of a paper sky._

_"Please let him live."_

_"Don’t let him die."_

"I’m almost out of minutes aren’t I?" Castiel mused, his low gravelly voice ebbing in and out of focus. His voice startled Dean into alertness. He blinked, trying to focus his blurry vision. "No." He growled, clenching his fists, glaring at the radio as Castiel spoke. It buzzed in reply. Dean knew by now that fiddling with the antenna wouldn’t do anything to help. He took a slurp of his cold coffee instead. "How are you?" Dean asked, grimacing as the cold liquid slid down his throat. Its bitterness roused him a little, enough to be able to zero in on Castiel’s rumbling voice. He trembled, blinking back the hot tears that pricked his eyes. He could no longer distinguish whether they were from fatigue or that his emotions that finally reached the tip of the iceberg. He didn’t really know how he was feeling anymore. Too much of everything he supposed.  

 

The line went quiet. Dean sighed, placing the microphone back down on the rotting table. He closed his eyes, humming Metallica underneath his breath, as he waited. 

"I’m okay." 

"Good." He didn’t really know what else to say. His chest rose in panic, as Castiel gasped. "Are you there?" 

"I’m here, Cas." He whispered. His cheeks felt wet. He repeated it into the microphone.

"Are you there? -"

"Yes Cas. I’m not going anywhere." His bit his cracked lips, reaching for the coffee with a shaking hand. He was not getting drunk again. Not after the last time. He drank so much he blacked out. He left him alone for an hour. He awoke to Castiel hyperventilating. Sam had been upstairs. He’d trusted him -

Dean had let them both down. 

His voice shook, as he said it again and again to the stuck record. Another echo. He clutched onto the microphone until the colour leached out of his fingers. “I’m here, Cas. It’s me, Dean.” A hand rested on Dean’s shoulder. 

"It’s my turn." Sam announced, his hair flopping into his face. Dean shook his head. "Dean. You need some sleep. I’ll stay with him." 

His eyes searched Sam’s, wide and pleading. Castiel’s voice of inquiry broke the silence. Dean turned to answer him. Sam looked down, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to make some toast.” 

Dean eyes flicked to Sam’s retreating figure and back again to the radio. “Dean?”

A weary smile spread across Dean’s lips. “Cas.” He ran his hands over his red eyes, chuckling in relief. 

"How long was I gone?" 

Dean hesitated to answer, licking his lips. “A couple of minutes.” 

"I’m sorry." 

Dean’s jaw tensed. “Not your fault Cas, just don’t let it happen again.” 

"Okay." He managed. "What’s the weather like outside today?" 

"The sun’s barely just come up." Dean murmured, peeling back the curtain with his free hand, the other hand squeezing the microphone. 

"That’s nice." He sounded more tired than he used to be. 

"The sky’s a pale yellow. One of the clouds looks like a peanut." 

The radio prickled as Castiel laughed. “You should be a poet Dean.” 

"I could be." Dean teased back, looking up at the clink of the plate as it touches the table. "He’s back." He notified Sam, craning his head to look at his brother; reaching out a hand towards his toast, frowning upon his realisation that his supposed toast had turned into a bacon sandwich. Sam shrugged as he looked down upon the question etched into his brother’s eyebrows. 

"Is that Sam?"

"Yeah Cas," Sam says. "Do you mind if I talk to you for a bit? Dean’s been sitting here for hours." 

The radio line crackled, as Castiel paused. “That would be fine.” Castiel said eventually. “You should get some rest Dean.” 

Dean glowered at his brother, his anger only sated by a bite of his bacon sandwich. Sam knew how to play his cards well. Sam smiled, nudging Dean out of the seat, sitting down in the chair, shooing away a reluctant Dean with a wave of his hand.

"He blames himself for what happened to you," Sam added once he was sure that Dean was gone. 

"I know. He always likes to blame himself for things. But this is the punishment that my brothers gave me for my crimes." The radio buzzed as Castiel hummed, deep in thought. "You’ll look after him won’t you?"

Sam laughed weakly. “Of course I will,”

"Make sure he doesn’t -"

"Doesn’t what?" Sam asked, his brows knitting together as he strained to listen through the static. The lights shut off, leaving him in the dark, the room lit only by the pale sunrise. The power in the crumbling building has shut off again. The seconds crept by like hours. Waiting. A cry for help burned the back of his throat. But he couldn’t bring himself to call Dean for assistance. 

His hand jolted to grab the microphone once the lights blinked back on. “Cas?!”

"Was I gone again?"

"The power in the house shut off."

"Oh."

"Cas, do you ever remember what its like when you black out like that?"

"It’s dark." Sam can almost hear a frown in his voice. "Voices come and go like dreams. I can’t ever put a finger on them. You two always pull me back to the surface." 

"Do you ever know what you say when you’re gone?"

 ”No. Do you still record me?” 

"Would you like me to stop?" Sam asked, lowering his gaze from the radio to the small black box, with its blinking red light. "No, I just want you both to be able to move on after this." 

The corner of Sam’s lip lifted up into a sad smile. “I know.” 

~:~

The next power cut lasted for half an hour. The persistent silence stirred Dean into a frenzy. He pounded the table until his knuckle was bloody. Sam had to pin him to the wall, pressing his arm against his chest, shaking his head in reproach as he watched Dean’s crazed eyes, glistening with tears. “He can’t hear me.” Dean mouthed. “It cut off and he was still asking me where I was.” 

"Dean." 

"Let me go Sam." Dean snarled. 

"You need to rest. He would want you to -"

"Stop dictating what he wants as if he’s dead!" Dean struggled against Sam’s firm grasp, his exhaustion making him weaker than he’d normally be if he were pitted against Sam. "He needs me to stay, Sam." 

"You mean-" 

"No." 

"Don’t make me lose you too Dean." Sam whispered. 

"Let me go." 

“ _Dean Winchester is saved.”_ The radio boomed.

Dean clasped a hand over his mouth. He crumpled onto his knees, slipping through Sam’s clumsy fingers. “Cas.” He breathed through his tears, curling into his knees as he sobbed. 

"Damn it  _Cas._ ”

Sam looked between him and the radio, a frown etched into his tired face as his fingers fumbled for the microphone. “Cas?” 

The radio crackled, thrumming with a chorus of Enochian.

"He’s never been like this before." Sam murmured, his expression caught between worry and perplexion. “It’s as if he’s dreaming.” 

Choking back his tears, Dean stared at the radio with great reproach, his eyes burning. Both sat in terse silence, one brother still hunched onto the floor, the other one hand gripping the chair with white knuckles, having forgotten to sit down. He only noticed as his white fingers slowly begin to go numb. He flexed them as he slumped into the chair, rubbing his fingers over his temple, having given up trying to communicate. 

Threads of english, korean and french rippled in and out of the steady flow of Enochian. The words came together beautifully, knitting themselves together like music, layering over each other like complicated harmonies, as one train of thought starts and stops. Some phrases were repeated over and over again endless times. Sam and Dean strained to pick apart the words. 

“ _Perdóname por lo que he hecho.”_

_"Forgive me for what I’ve done."_  Sam translated, swallowing hard. Dean’s jaw clenched, rising from the floor he grabbed the microphone out of Sam’s lax fingers. “You tried your hardest Cas. You always gave it your all with everything you had.” The microphone screeched as Dean bumped it against his teeth. “We’ve all screwed up Cas, I don’t care what you’ve done in the past. We can put that behind us now. Just please. Cas, please.” Dean crouched over the table, breathing hard. A bead of water dripped onto his hands, a mixture of sweat and tears. 

“ _I will not hurt Dean.”_

_~:~_

 The dream persisted for another two hours. Another two hours of black coffee and silence. Sam soon stopped translating what he knew. Screaming did no good. Talking until he was hoarse had done no good. Nothing did any good.

 Was this it? Dean dug his grubby nails into his palms (When was the last time he showered? He couldn’t remember anymore). He pressed his head into his hands, rubbing his temple. He wanted to shut Castiel up. He wanted to slam that infernal radio against the wall as it spat out all that angel had ever thought, as every poisonous, every affectionate word towards the boys was said. All the rage, all the wrong. But the love was what got him most. In all that Castiel had ever done, in everything, he’d been sincere. 

Another pus-filled wound. It was worst when he talked about Dean. Wisps of half-conversations. Drink was becoming more tempting. He’d take anything to wash out the poison from his ears, that leaked into what was left of his ravaged heart. He didn’t want to hear Castiel’s cries of fear, indignation. 

_"Father am I doing the right thing?"_

He shouldn’t know how angels sound when they scream. 

~:~

"Dean?" 

His heart hiccupped in his chest as he scrambled for a hold onto the microphone. “Cas,” He breathed, his voice thick with sleep, breaking in relief. Sam jostled awake on the couch, stretching his long arms, his mouth already forming a question of Castiel’s name. Dean leaned in, listening hard. He could barely hear the wisp of Castiel’s voice over his heavy breathing. 

"What happened?"

"I don’t know." 

Castiel talked about heaven. Dean listened as if it was to be their last conversation, tracing every nuance, every breath, committing his scratchy voice to memory. 

~:~

After an hour the power shut off again.

Dean lasted three hours in that claustrophobic room, pacing, waiting for his friend to return to that horrific world of dreams. He waited three hours in pained silence, straining to hear for Castiel’s voice. And it was too much. It was killing him. He grabbed the keys, shaking his head at Sam, his red eyes, his haggard appearance telling all. Sam let him go. 

He came home stinking of drink, with an empty smile on his lips, and doughnuts in his hands. Sam didn't say anything about his abrupt departure. He could see the dull spark in his eyes, as his gaze flicked towards the radio, handing Sam a sticky doughnut, encrusted with sugar crystals that glued themselves onto his fingers. 

"Is he back?" 

Sam rubbed his face, keeping his eyes hidden. “No.” 

~:~

_“_ I miss being able to see you.” 

"I miss your annoying face too," Dean replied, trying to make light of it. It was the only way to make things at least slightly bearable. These conversations were few and far between. They exhausted him. 

Castiel gave a small hum, a mixture of amusement and disapproval. “My head gets tiring after awhile.” 

"I can understand that." 

"Are you okay?" 

"I should be the one asking you." Dean traced the swirls and indents in the table with the tip of his index finger.

"I never got to perfect my aim with a gun did I?" Castiel mused, the radio static almost drowned out his voice. 

"I’ll teach you when we find a way to bring you back." 

Dean could hear a smile in his voice. “Sure. We could stop at Taco Bell after.” 

Dean gave a small chuckle. “Sounds perfect.” 

"Dean," Castiel said, trying to muster all his strength. "Promise me you’ll look after yourself."

Dean swallowed. 

"I…I worry about you both. And I don’t want you hurting yourself over me. I know that it’s hard but I care about you -" 

"Okay Cas." 

 ”I miss you Dean. I miss the smell of the impala, I miss home.” The words rolled off his tongue. “I miss riding in the impala, with you two, I miss you so much- I miss feeling things Dean. There are times where I don’t even know if I exist anymore and I’m scared that I’ll not be able -“ 

"Know if I exist - scared that I’ll not-" The radio screeched. Dean hammered his fist against the table. "Cas?" He questioned. "Cas?! Cas, I need you to stay with me buddy." Dean said, clasping the microphone to his mouth. 

"What’s the colour of the sky?" The radio sparked, and Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. "The colour of peach." Dean garbled, his words rushing together. 

"What’s the colour?" Castiel repeated. It was hard for Dean to breathe, but he somehow managed to smile. "Colour of peaches Cas," 

Castiel asked again. Dean brokenly answered. Sam looked towards Dean, with a sigh, as he boiled water on the stove. 

Dean kept talking, his voice going taut as Castiel asked again. His unravelling thoughts tumbled out of his mouth as he talked over that desperate voice. 

_Did you ever hear me when you were like this?_

"Cas, please, I’ll let you ride shotgun when we get you back. Because we’re going to find a way to get you back Cas." He said the words even though he didn’t believe them. He sat hunched in the same position as Castiel talked with the voice of a stuck record. "Cas." He couldn’t stop saying his name. His voice cracked. 

Sam strode over, crouching to Dean’s level. “Cas?” 

They both listened to the voice as it began to unravel. Dean stared ahead, with empty eyes and clenched fists. “I can’t bear it Sam.” 

"I know." Sam croaked, as they both listening to the metallic moans, as they dissolved into static. Dean stared ahead with empty eyes, his lips parting to form Castiel’s name. 

"It’s not stopping." 

"We should wait." 

Sam gave a small nod, relenting to Dean’s wishes. He clasped his brother’s shoulder, unable to offer little else for comfort. Dean barely noticed, keeping his focus on the broken radio, as it warped Castiel’s voice into something unrecognisable. 

Sam sat on the couch, with a steaming mug of coffee, unsure of what to do. He kept his eyes off his brother, watching the clouds of steam rise into the air. He couldn’t watch his grief. His heart didn’t know what to do in its chest. Castiel had been his friend, his family. Now, it seemed that he was gone. Only a ghost of his voice remained and soon that would be gone too. 

"Make it stop." Dean whispered, his eyes burning. He rose from his chair, spinning around to Sam. "I can’t take it anymore." Dean clasped his fingers, looking about the room. He felt compelled to hit something. "I need it to stop." 

Sam nodded, moving towards the plug in one fluid movement. Dean kept his eyes on the ground, his cheeks flushed with shame.

_"I’m sorry."_

 ~:~

Every couple months Dean would open the sealed safe he kept the tapes in, brushing off the thin film of dust and placing them in his tape recorder, staring up at the ceiling, envisioning Castiel was sitting right next to him. It helped him to be able to trace out the nuances in Castiel’s voice, the exact texture. The way he laughed. His voice in his righteous anger. How he said his name. 

_"What's the colour of the sky?"_

_"The colour of peaches."_


End file.
